Nueces 50 Mile Race Report

On Saturday, March 3, 2012, I had the pleasure of running 50 miles in the Nueces River Valley, on the western edge of the Texas Hill Country. As usual, Joe and Joyce Prusaitis put on an extraordinary ultramarathon. Their races truly are top-notch, both in terms of the course itself - which is beautiful - and in terms of the organization, volunteer staff, and aid the runners receive. I saw many familiar faces on the trail and at the aid stations, including newly-weds Doug and Jazzy Ratliff (congrats you two!)

My goal going into this race was to just have fun. I wanted to go out there and get caught up in the beauty of being out on the trail - to just do my own thing and listen to my music on my iPod and have a blast. And I did just that.

I drove out to Camp Eagle on Friday, checked in and got my race tags, and parked my car in the camping area and ate oranges and almonds and watched episodes of the Golden Girls on my laptop until it was time to sleep. By 5 am, I was well-rested and ready to start my adventure. I got all my gear together (which wasn't very much: one water bottle, a headlamp, nipple guards, and my iPod. That is really all you need to run 50 miles on Joe's well-organized course) and headed towards the start line.

The first few miles of an ultra are always my favorite miles. Everyone is excited and fresh. You have your headlamps and flashlights out. You feel like you are embarking into the the unknown and you feel anxious and happy, and maybe even a little scared, all at the same time.

Now, if you haven't been on the trails at Camp Eagle, let me tell you you something about them: they are tough! Okay, maybe not that tough, but they are definitely challenging. There are some big climbs throughout the course, and you feel absolute relief when you get to the top of a big hill because by then you have just had it with climbing! Then, you get to the quad-punishing downhill! And the trail is not smooth. It is rocky. You've never seen so many rocks in your life (unless, of course, you have run the Cactus Rose 100 at Bandera).

But, what rugged beauty! More climbs means more scenic views. You get to the top of one hill and you can see a beautiful expanse of the Texas Hill Country. You get to the top of another hill, and what is waiting for you on top? A giant, beautiful creaking windmill set against the rising Texas sun! This course has it all: water (you run along the river for a short portion of the course), bridge crossings (there is one long suspension bridge that you get to run across and several other smaller crossings), and wildlife.

On the last point about wildlife, let me tell you a short anecdote before wrapping up this race report. At about mile 42, I found myself face to face with a big buck standing right in the middle of the trail. Off to the side was a fawn. They both stood staring at me, no more than 10 feet away. I took a step toward the buck, hoping he might move. He didn't. He just stood there. Staring. Now, I've seen one too many YouTube videos of deer going crazy and standing up on their hind legs and attacking with their front legs to take this situation lightly. I mean, come on, I've just run 42 miles! I am tired as hell and have the strength of a marshmallow Peep. If that deer attacked me, I was totally defenseless. Worst case scenario: there were plenty of rocks to defend myself with!

But after a few second of just standing there, regarding each other with mistrust and probably waiting for the other to make the first move to get us out of this situation, I decided to take action. I ran at the deer with my hands in the air and screamed. The thing ran away. And so did I. As I ran towards the finish line, I smiled at what turned out to be a fun little adventure.

Goodbye Lubbock, Hello World!

Three years ago, I was an entering first-year student at Texas Tech School of Law in Lubbock, Texas. I weighed over 300-lbs. I was introverted and unsure of myself.

Upon moving into my new apartment, I was disheartened to find that I was situated on the third floor of a run-down, smelly piece of property. The rent was only $260, all bills paid and fully-furnished, and let me tell you, you get what you pay for. When I walked in my efficiency studio, I was greeted with the smell of mothballs! I don't know who invented mothballs, but I for one would rather be infested with moths than have to endure such a foul stench!

Here I was 400 miles away from home, lonely and depressed. School hadn't even started and already my mind was plagued with doubts. Was moving a smart thing to do? Was law school meant for me? I must have spent that first week crying my eyes out! I called my friends back home nearly every day. "I made a big mistake," I lamented.

My time in Lubbock was tedious and difficult. Not that law school is difficult - the workload is actually not that bad. It's just that I didn't enjoy the material. I got no joy out of studying contract law or civil procedure.

I met some terrible people in Lubbock, too. If you've been to law school, you know that the classes are filled with liars, backstabbers, and the most heinous gossips you could ever encounter. I lost several would-be friends to their prejudices, racism, and spitefulness.

Fortunately, I also met some wonderful people who got me through the rough patches. Without them, I don't think I would have kept my sanity. In them, I found companionship. I found a confidant - someone who shared my interests in the arts and with whom I could share dreams and secrets.

Maybe law school really was a mistake. It's certainly possible that I will live to regret my decision to go. Now that I have finished my three years in Lubbock, I can't say for sure whether, if I could go back in time, I would do it again. A part of me wishes I had had the guts to drop out my first year. But, fear and pride kept me going.

But, in a way, I am glad I didn't quit. Because then I never would have met my friends. And I never would have discovered my love of running. I mentioned that when I moved to law school, I weighed about 300 lbs. Although I started losing weight the summer before I moved to Lubbock, I started running seriously while I was in Lubbock.

Every night after class, I would go for a run at the track around the Student Rec Center. As the stars twinkled in the night sky, I exorcised all that pain, confusion, and frustration. Before long, I was dropping weight and found myself signing up for my first marathon, and a week later, my first 50-mile ultramarathon.

Auguste Rodin wrote that "nothing is a waste of time if you use the experience wisely." Law school taught me that there is no difficult situation that I can't endure. I will endure it. And in the process, I will pull out from it any and every benefit I can. I have learned to have a sense of humor in all situations, especially the worst of the worst. I have learned to smile and make the best of a shitty set of circumstances. I have learned to make do with the bad and be grateful for the good. I have learned to be wary of bad people and to treasure an honest friend. And I have learned that I am stronger than I think.

Cactus Rose 100 Race Report (Part 1)

As I write this, I am listening to Laura Nyro's "Save the Country" - a great song by a great artist - and I am struck by a particular verse:

I got fury in my soul./Fury's gonna take me to the glory goal.

I dig it. I, too, have fury in my soul, and after this past weekend's DNF (stands for "Did Not Finish") at the Cactus Rose 100 Mile Trail Run, I am more determined than ever to become the best ultrarunner I can be.

How can I express all the things that are running through my mind - the anger, the pride, the joy, the sadness? I'm a bundle of emotion, all tightly bound together, with no way to exorcise the pain or get away from it. But, I'm okay with that. I don't want to avoid the agony. It's characteristic of ultrarunners, I think, to face pain and process it, embrace it and learn from it.


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"Can you run 5 miles in an hour?" The question was sort of laughable. Of course I couldn't. I had been running for well over 75 miles. My quads were screaming. I could feel two big blisters on the bottoms of my feet. I just wanted to stop. But something told me not to throw in the towel. Here I was at the main aid station (nicknamed "The Lodge") which served as the start and end of each 25-mile loop. I had taken a shortcut from Boyles to The Lodge to call it quits. There was no way I was going to make it the five miles from Boyles to the Lodge in time to make the cutoff. No way. The officials at the Lodge looked at me with concern.

After being lost in the Bandera wilderness for nearly six hours, I had finally made it to Boyles. I wasn't injured and I was in fairly good spirits. But, I had spent so much time being lost, wandering aimlessly through the nasty, rugged trails of the Texas Hill Country that I now had only an hour to make it to the main aid station to meet the cutoff time to start the fourth and last loop of the race. Why did I take the shortcut back here to the main aid station to quit instead of just running the damn five miles? Was I really a quitter? Did I not have the right stuff, the stuff to finish? It was just five miles. Oh, but what a five miles! If you've ever run the trails of the State Natural Area in Bandera, Texas, you know how grueling those five miles can be.

The terrain is rocky, unforgiving, and extremely technical. There are almost no flat running sections. You are either clamoring uphill or tearing, trying not to tumble, downhill. I hear it is one of the toughest race courses in the country. Five miles in one hour? I don't think so. When I realized the certainty of my defeat, I walked the quarter-mile shortcut back to the Lodge to tell them I was going to have to quit. But, something felt wrong just giving up like that. I had worked so hard to get to this point. All my training, all my time and energy and money... I couldn't let it all go to waste. Besides, I felt pretty damn good. Aside from my legs being a little sore and my feet hurting, I was in great shape. I had to give it my best shot. I snapped.

"Drive me back to Boyles. I'm going to do the five miles," I said.

"Okay, but you have to make it back here by 7:15 a.m. to start the next loop," the race official told me.

"I understand."

I stuffed my pockets with energy gels and PB&J sandwiches and refilled my water bottles. I jumped in the passenger side of a truck that pulled up and got a ride back to Boyles. Once there, I very quickly jumped out of the truck and began ascending Boyles Bump, a grisly little 300-foot climb. Then, I shot down the side of the hill, only to encounter another hard climb, a repulsive roller called Cairn's Climb. I ran like I've never run before. I was bawling. Angry tears fell hot down my cheeks. I knew it was all in vain. No matter how hard I pushed, I knew I probably would not make it in time. But, I had to try. The sun was coming up now. The fiery red of the horizon struck me as an odd sight to behold, reinforcing a startling fact: I had been running for over 24 hours straight.

Those five miles stretched on forever. I had a lot of time to think out there. Mostly I thought of my friends and family. I thought of Steven Monte, Dave Carder, Lee Irons, and Lynnor Matheney, who were also running the race and who, I knew, were out there somewhere, in pain, like me. I thought of my dad, who, just a few weeks earlier had his leg amputated due to complications from diabetes and who wanted to be there to support me at the race so badly that he mustered the strength and courage to make the trip to Bandera just to see me run.

I thought of my mom, the strongest person I know, who has loved and supported me through all my triumphs and failings and who, I knew, would be there for me at the finish line no matter what. I thought of my sister, who brings joy to my heart even in the darkest of times. I thought of my friend Aleia, paradigm of loyalty and love.

I thought of Lisa Smith-Batchen, one of the most amazing athletes I know of, a strong and loving person, who has accomplished so much and who will always remain my greatest inspiration. I thought of Shannon Farrar-Griefer, a badass ultrarunner and beautiful woman, whose determination to endure is nothing short of amazing. I thought of Eric Clifton, an uncompromising athlete, who runs the way he wants to - fast - and will settle for nothing less than his very best in a race.

I thought of all these people. And I kept running. Always, always, moving forward...

Part 2 to be posted soon.